Teasing and a sense of humor, if you can develop that in your

Hear the wisdom of P. J. O’Rourke, the keen observer of human folly and the quiet philosopher of laughter, who said: “Teasing and a sense of humor, if you can develop that in your kids, and if you can exercise it with the kids, just makes for a pleasanter atmosphere.” These words, though spoken lightly, carry the grace of an eternal truth—that joy is not merely a gift but a discipline, and humor, when nurtured in the heart, becomes a lamp that burns through life’s darkness. To raise children in laughter is to fortify them against sorrow; to share in gentle teasing is to teach them both humility and love.

The ancients knew that laughter is the language of the soul. It is the music that bridges the distance between hearts. In the home, where tempers rise and duties weigh heavy, it is humor that softens the spirit and keeps the family whole. For when O’Rourke spoke of a “pleasanter atmosphere,” he meant not mere mirth, but peace—a harmony that arises when love learns to laugh. The parent who can joke with a child without cruelty, who can guide with jest rather than anger, builds a house not of stone, but of light.

Teasing, in its pure form, is an act of affection. It is the gentle testing of bonds, a reminder that we are close enough to touch each other’s flaws and yet remain unbroken. The Greeks called this paidia—the sacred play that refines the soul. A family that learns to laugh together learns also to forgive. Through laughter, the child understands that imperfection is not shameful, that mistakes can be faced with courage, and that love need not always wear solemn robes. The heart that can laugh at itself fears nothing, for it is already free.

Consider the tale of Abraham Lincoln, that great and weary leader. In the midst of the Civil War, when grief and duty consumed his days, he still made time for humor. He told stories that made his soldiers and secretaries laugh, even as death shadowed their steps. Once, when criticized for his levity in grave times, Lincoln said, “I laugh because I must not weep. That’s all there is to it.” His sense of humor was not escape—it was endurance. It was the very breath that kept him human in an inhuman age. In this, Lincoln became a father not just to a nation, but to all who learn to stand upright beneath sorrow.

O’Rourke’s wisdom reflects this same spirit on a smaller stage—the family hearth. To exercise humor with one’s children is to teach them strength without hardness, wit without cruelty, and warmth without weakness. It is to model how joy and discipline can live together, as light and flame in one candle. Parents who laugh with their children become companions in discovery, not tyrants of instruction. They show that love is not only patient and kind—it can also be playful.

Yet this art of teasing and laughter requires discernment. There is laughter that builds and laughter that breaks. Mockery is the shadow of humor, and the wise must learn to cast it away. The parent’s jest must never wound, for a child’s heart is tender clay. Let teasing always carry affection within it, like a sword sheathed in velvet. Let humor teach compassion, not contempt. Only then can it uplift, heal, and unite.

The lesson, then, is this: Raise your children to laugh well and kindly. Teach them to find joy in the small absurdities of life, to meet hardship with wit, and to temper pride with self-mockery. Share stories, invent games, and laugh at your own mistakes before their eyes. In doing so, you give them something more enduring than wealth or wisdom—you give them resilience, the power to remain human in an unkind world.

For laughter, when guided by love, is the breath of the divine in mortal hearts. It is the voice that echoes through generations, saying, “Be gentle with life, for it is fleeting. And while you live it, make it bright.” As P. J. O’Rourke teaches, a home filled with laughter is not just a pleasanter atmosphere—it is a sanctuary, where the soul learns to smile, even in the storm.